The Red on Her Dress
by A Shadow's Lament
Summary: When her life is saved by a mysterious stranger, the last thing she expects is that he harbours a secret, a secret that she may hold the key to breaking… Relative AU work, two-shot. Rated T.
1. The Beginning

**Greetings everyone, it's been a while… So, my inspiration has truly sparked recently, and so I felt compelled to write this.**

**I have taken elements from both Twilight Princess and Skyward Sword, so a knowledge of both these games would assist to understanding the plot, but this an AU work. It is NOT specific to any game, though it does fit to Twilight Princess Gamecube version in terms of locations of the springs and particular factors. Also, for the sake of this, let's just say that Hylia still lives in Zelda. **

**Please bear in mind that this is completely AU work, maps are not identical, and neither are certain things.**

**So just a note, my writing is rather ****"****abstract****"**** (probably the wrong word to use) - such as making the syntax very short, clipped and no use of dialogue at first. It****'****s not accidental before you think ****"****what is she doing?!****"**** I did this deliberately as it seemed to fit with the emotions of the story. Likewise, I do switch perspectives. A lot. Again, very deliberate. I tend to write from her viewpoint more, but he****'****s thrown in too. If it doesn't work then please do say.**

**Also, I think there is some grammar rule to not start a sentence with ****"****but****"…**** yeah, I threw that out of the window. **

**Long authors note****…****. But finally****…****.**

**Warnings - There is blood. And lots of it. I do think I am pushing the boundaries of a T rating, but I don****'****t think it warrants an M. Just be warned for some gruesomeness. ****But other than that, I think your fine, for now at least.**

**Disclaimer - The Legend of Zelda and all its associated merchandise does not belong to me, nor does the picture which google provided (I hate finding pictures for these).**

**Enjoy. **

* * *

All days begin ordinary. Yet not all end in the same manner, and today was no exception.

The day had begun as any other; the standard chores to complete, animals to feed, clothes to wash and hang. The usual song of birds and patter of forest-life scurrying across the ground - scavenging for any remainders of food.

Nothing had disrupted the calm and amicable atmosphere. Not the friendly banter of villagers, nor the laughs of children playing.

Nothing but the cries of war.

Of the yells of women, stampede of hooves, twangs of bows drawn and fired, explosions from bombs and crackles of flames.

The sounds of utter chaos.

Children were swept off the paths, husbands, sons, brothers; any available male readying their weapons. Frantic at the lack of warning, determined to die fighting.

Women's hysterical screams added to the clang of blades, splashes of blood, crunches of bones.

She stood, frozen. Terror gripping her heart, rage boiling in her veins, horror spiking her fears.

Realising that they are Gerudo's from the west, their flaming hair and copper skin clues to their origin. Riding through her town as the easiest means of reaching central Hyrule, uncaring of the lives they take so easily.

A scream of another fallen alerts her back to the present. Instantly pushing her to run for help, for a weapon of her own, for anything that would be of aid.

Shot after shot was fired, the small practise she'd had of targeting stationary objects providing futile. The rapid movement of the peculiar boars difficult to pin-point.

Soon learning to aim ahead of the riders, their movement securing their own dastardly fate as they ran into the arrow.

Each small victory nothing compared to the great losses.

The attempts of survival decreasing with every moment, with every body that fell dead.

She would not give up, she _could_ not give up.

It was a fight to the death, one she did not want to loose, but knowing it was inevitable.

Another arrow fired, another life lost, one more loss to add to the ever-growing total.

She breathed through her mouth, almost tasting the metallic copper of blood, the bitter ash from fires designed to scare, to cause more destruction. To kill those who thought they could hide.

Desperately she glanced around for any signs of life, suppressing the innate desire to panic at the lack.

Hope diminishing with every second. Fear rising with every heartbeat.

Bodies fallen, twisted, trampled.

Horrifying, sickening, repulsive.

Blood… A rivet of red oozing along the path, coating walls, slick on clothes.

Watching as families fell, friends slaughtered like live-stock.

The temptation to give up, let death claim her as it had claimed all else.

But a fierce determination to persevere, to fight with whatever she had left.

Even as an arrow nicks her arm, she grits her teeth against the pain, letting the crimson pool upon the fabric.

The bow pulled tight, the arrow flies loose, and she's grateful for the little practise she had, but wishing it was more, so much more…

Her shot misses by mere inches, close to her target, but not close enough.

Her position is alerted, the females turn, instant location.

She's the only one left. They don't plan on leaving survivors.

A scream builds in her throat, but it stops, stuck through her nerves, held back by her bravery.

Better to stand indignant than to wallow pitifully on her knees.

Her eyes close, feeling the ground shake with every beat of hooves. The furious breaths of beasts drawing closer.

One last prayer to the goddess; preparing for the blow to end her life.

But it doesn't come.

The ring of metal still strikes the air, the poignancy of blood bitter in her mouth.

Yet she is alive.

Eyes open, she watches as the females join the villagers.

Trampled by their mounts, throats slashed, limbs severed.

A blade cutting through their skin like liquid. Not a moment spared as the next target is killed. Cleanly, efficiently, the blade moves almost gracefully. Movements practised, skilled.

She's wary, not believing that her prayers to live have been answered so easily.

Waiting for the catch; she's already dead, she's passed out, something to describe what she is witnessing.

And then she see's him. The body attached to the sword.

Cloaked in black, sword gleaming wickedly in the deliberate fires blaze, brilliant with the life blood of its victims.

She wonders if death has come for her.

But then he turns, pulling his hood back up quickly, joining the cowl that masks his face, but it is enough to see he is human.

The shock of hair a colour she once knew so well, but her thoughts are irrational. It is not him, it is foolish to think so.

Relief is short lived, fear surmounting it, dashing her hopes of the end.

What does he want, why is here, and most importantly, who even is he?

She observes him with something close to fascination, tinged with a nameless dread.

How nimbly he dismounts, sword ringing in the dead air, metal grating against the ornate sheath.

She cannot move, paralysed by the fact that if she does, her life will be lost.

Even as he moves closer, her feet are rooted.

Hoping that he means no harm, that he is on her side.

He stops in front of her. Face hidden in shadow, she cannot see decipher anything about him.

No words are spoken, but he reaches for her arm, careful to not move too fast, gently inspecting her wound.

Is she scared? Perhaps.

But shock runs boldly in her veins, restraining the emotions that will capture her later.

The toll of the loss of her family, of friends, of her home all placed in the back of her mind.

Her vision hazes, edges becoming black.

She makes to speak, but much like earlier, her throat is tight, disobeying her command to work.

Her muscles weaken, panic ensnares and she knows something is wrong.

Yet she cannot even voice her concern as her knees sag, vision tipping on its side.

Darkness all she can see as she falls into its welcoming embrace.

* * *

Sounds drift into her ears, each loud and thundering as her senses comes back, her body cringing; expecting the cacophony of war.

But all is at peace. Or so it appears.

Water is trickling nearby, something that can only be heard if in the woods. The musical chirp of birds confirming that fact.

Hesitantly she opens her eyes, scanning the surrounding area as she slowly pushes up into a sitting position.

Gingerly, she clutches her head, still cloudy from her black-out earlier.

The pain in her arm barely noticeable, reduced to a faint ache. Bandaged tightly to decrease the throb.

All at once her memories come rushing back, and she's on her knees suddenly, violently coughing what little was in her stomach. The acidity of bile burning her throat.

Movements both slow and sluggish, she cups her hands into the bubbling stream, letting the refreshing cool drench her parched throat, erase the remaining grogginess of sleep.

The need sated, now able to think more clearly.

Remembering the cloaked figure. A man if she is not mistaken.

Yet he is no where in sight, making her wonder if she dreamed of his existence.

No, the red on her dress is proof of the battle, of her participation in the event, of being saved by him. Whoever he may be.

Though she's grateful, he is not there to receive her thanks. And her minds lingers on the unpleasant.

Her father, shot down, arrows embedded in his heart.

Her mother murdered before her eyes, scarlet staining her clothes, seeping from the lesion on her neck.

Malon, Ilia, Saria… All her friends killed. So brutally, so maliciously…

She draws her knees close to her chest, crying brokenly into her arms.

Feeling more alone than she has ever felt in her life.

Everyone she cares about is gone. Lost to her.

And she hadn't even the chance to say good-bye.

Another long sob tears out of her throat, hoarse and thick from her tears.

Yet soon her sorrow turns to rage.

All her hatred for the war echoed in her screams.

The cruelty of having everything ripped away from her so fast.

The injustice of being a caught in the middle of the battle that had raged on for months. One she never had the intention of seeing.

Nayrule had been such a quiet provincial town. Specialising in trades of cattle, of embroidered gifts.

It had been so peaceful, so quaint.

Now it was a burning pile of ash, homes destroyed, bodies violated, all consumed by the flames.

Her fury peaks, venting it to the goddess that her village had been named after. Asking why, crying why, begging _why_.

What had she done to deserve this?

How was she even alive?

Nothing but the natural sounds of the forest answer her. Almost mocking in their calm.

She draws another breath, hands clenched and shaking in fists, controlling her absolute anger as she closes her eyes, maintaining any control she has left.

Opening them to something she hadn't seen before.

A wolf, large in its stature, larger than she deemed possible, watches her.

So silent, she hadn't noticed it till now.

It grey coat, streaked with odd markings of white distinctive from the foliage around.

Its bright, unusual blue eyes - not brown or golden like what was common - staring out at her, intimidating even from the distance, a quite confidence clear in them.

Reflexively, she steps back, but careful not to move suddenly.

She is no amateur; the woods are a part of her childhood, she has seen wolves before. Knows of the ferocity of their teeth, how mindlessly they can kill.

Yet she can't recall ever encountering one like this.

It's the eyes, those peculiar cyan orbs that are steadily focused on her.

How she imagines it is only a head smaller than her, too large to be an ordinary wolf.

She has heard of magic, of transformation spells. Old wives tales, she had brushed them aside, unbelieving of such nonsense.

Though magic exists - she can feel it flowing in her veins - to consider the beast may not be a true wolf is absurd to think about.

Tentatively, she inches back, trying to hide her gasp when it moves forward, mirroring her steps, too humanly for her liking.

Another step back, another step forward.

She can't take it, going against all natural instinct, she turns and runs.

Hitching her skirts and fleeing as far as her feet will carry her.

Never stopping, never looking behind, never watching for upended roots waiting to trip her up.

Arms flailing, she smacks into the ground. Hands scrapping against stones, stained by grass, bleeding through scrapes.

She wants to cry, to sob her lament out. But that is not the attitude to take. She is strong, she knows this, but grief is consuming, deadly when combined with fear.

Hissing in pain as she uses her hands to propel herself from the ground, she freezes.

Hearing the slow pant of breaths that she is overly certain are not her own.

The wolf stands nought but a foot from her, those focused blue eyes watching her. With an apology? Its so fleeting, that she questions whether she seen it, unable to shake the feeling that perhaps the wolf means her no harm.

"What do you want?" She cries out, voice thick. Sick of the myriad of emotion swarming her senses.

The beast gives no response, still quietly regarding her before it tilts its large head. Gaze shifting to her arm, the bandage wrapped around her bicep, eyes narrowing as it sees the blood.

The gesture is so human, so inquiring that she cannot help but gape.

Tentatively, it takes a step towards her form, looking to her expectantly, ready for her to bolt.

Yet again she is statuesque, whether it is her own intrigue that holds her still, or a manifestation of her absolute fear that keeps her paralysed, she knows not. Only watching at the beast draws nearer.

Her estimations were right: it stands no taller than her, its snout is level with her throat. One turn of it head, and her jugular would be ripped.

But the wolf makes no such move, stopping close enough that she feels its breath lift her hair, but a distance great enough that she does not feel threatened.

Carefully, it lowers to the floor, hesitantly, worried that she will run.

Always observing her reaction through those unusual cyan eyes.

"I... I don't understand…" she whispers, unknowing of what it expects her to do.

A sound, something so identical to a laugh rumbles from the wolf. It turns its head, pushing its nose against her legs before meaningfully glancing towards its back.

"You want me to climb on?" she asks, sceptical of doing so. How does she know it will not lure her to her death?

The great beast nods, and the action renders her speechless.

Deliberately slow, she slides one leg over its broad back, feeling the slight protrusion of its spine through the thick fur.

With just as much care, it raises up on to its legs, and the height leverage makes her feel as though she is riding a horse.

Only once her hands are secure on its shoulders, does it move, no alerts to hold on before they are running.

Passing through the trees with swift agility, bounding over misshapen grown roots with graceful ease.

The wind whips her hair back, almost tearing it from her scalp, and she finds herself crouching lower into its back in the hopes of being shielded.

Shifting so that her rhythm is matched with the beasts, instantly finding that she is jostled less, more relaxed.

Owls hoot from above, the evening cicadas hushed as night takes full dominion over the skies. Sunlight already gone, the stars wink out from the gaps in the leafy canopy, the moon full and ghostly.

Though there's still the linger of fear; anticipation of where the beast is taking her, and what the dawn brings, she's comforted by the presence of the wolf, and that scares her even more.

To feel at peace with an animal that could kill her without a moments hesitation is ridiculous, yet something is decidedly comforting about the beast.

The protection she feels riding through the woods, all worries carelessly melting away. It is a welcome sensation, one she embraces fully while she can.

Until grief daggers her heart.

How can she feel so free when all that she loved is gone?

Tears leak silently from her eyes, blown away from the gales in a less than gentle caress.

A low sob escaping her throat before she can prevent it.

The wolf turns discretely in her direction, likely curious of the sound.

She rubs her hands into its coat, more to soothe herself than to reassure it that she is okay. It would be a lie anyways, she is most certainly not fine.

Another burst of speed momentarily distracts her from her sorrow, causing her to cling on desperately as they ran at unimaginable speeds.

There was no doubt in her mind; this is no ordinary wolf.

If not for the rush of air past her mouth, making it difficult to speak, she would ask where they were headed, but aside from the former fact, there wasn't a way in which it could respond anyways.

She had no need to ask though as they stop abruptly at the mouth of a cave, the large beast dropping once more to let her slide off.

It takes her a moment to respond, suddenly apprehensive.

The cave has an aura of alarm, of cold and damp, goose-bumps immediately running down her back.

She proceeds with trepidation, wishing for some form of lighting.

Though she knows of spells, of one that would aid her, she has never fully attempted them - worried of what the villagers would have thought of her.

They feared what they did not understand. Magic topping that list.

Yet there are no other humans nearby, no one to judge her for her abilities.

Even her own mother had been frightened of her spells.

But she is not there to reprimand her now, and the thought simultaneously fills her with courage to do as she likes, but the bitter remorse that she doesn't have her mother anymore, even to berate her, taints the relief.

Something wet pushes against her hand, and immediately she pulls it away, only then realising that the wolf is still near her.

Human it may not be, but there is a question in its eyes, wondering of her hesitance.

She mumbles that she needs a branch, some form of wood to ignite, and no sooner have the words left her mouth than does the wolf amble off to find said branch.

She stares after it in mild astonishment, bewildered that it understood her request.

Even more so amazed when it returns with a long stick that fits her needs well.

Hastily, she words her gratitude, feeling more than a bit silly to be speaking to an animal.

Still bemused when its nods in return.

Shaking her head to clear her stupefaction, she ignites the branch, a rising gratitude that she never took heed of her mother's warning that magic is dangerous, practising it discreetly in the very woods she stood in now.

Flame burning brightly, she recalls the blazes of her village, of the smell of malting flesh…

The urge to gag rises, but she suppresses it, repeating that she can pull through as a constant mantra in her head.

Holding the make-shift torch firmly in her hands, she wanders into the cave, swallowing back the desire to leave.

The steady, soft patter of paws behind her the only thing keeping her going.

Eventually, after several turns, a wide space is found.

But it is not the room that seems so surreal when compared to the narrow, winding tunnels that grabs her attention, but what lies there.

Piles of clothes are folded alongside one wall, boots and capes joining the garments.

A satchel rests on top, next to bottles filled with orangey red liquid.

Blankets rolled into one corner, a burnt out fire close by.

Then she sees them. Catching the light from her torch. Cleaned from the blood they shed only hours ago.

The shield rests against the wall, the royal blue and loftwing and Triforce insignia reflecting its Hyrulian origin, but the sword garners more attention. It has no decoration, nor any bold colours, but she knows she has seen it before.

The sword that had saved her life, wielded by the courageous hooded man.

Terror is heavy in her throat, her hands shaking around the stick.

She glances around quickly, scanning the rooms for any remains of bones, of a decomposing carcass. Unsure of whether to be relived or petrified when she finds none that resemble a human.

"What have you done to him?" her voice trembles, knowing the beast cannot answer, yet wanting it to do so.

The absence of a body is not enough to sate her anxiety. For all she knows, the small bones littering the area could have been human once, now crushed into small pieces by the wolf's powerful jaws.

And though she never knew who her saviour was, the thought that this… this thing may have killed him is enough to deeply unsettle her.

In its way of answering, in a gesture so unlike the animal it is, it whines softly, pressing its ears flat against its head.

Yet she is not fooled by its look of innocence. Disbelieving that it did not slaughter the man to whom the weaponry belonged to.

"You killed him…" she accuses, looking for any other exit other than the one the beast is blocking, repressing the building of panic at realising she is trapped in dead end.

The beast barks at her, almost like a refusal of her statement, shaking its head.

But she does not accept its rebuttal, not when the bark revealed those sharp incisors; more than capable of tearing through muscle and sinew.

In a flash of inspiration, she throws the torch at the beast, satisfied when it yelps.

Yet she does not hesitate to listen, taking off as soon as it jumps back - avoiding the flames.

Her boots slap against the ground, the echoes amplified by the empty air.

Her dress rustling around her legs, the otherwise gentle swish now harsh in her ears.

She is all too aware of how pointless it is, trying to outrun a wolf, but at this moment, she does not care.

She has not been saved by a mysterious stranger to die at the anger of a wolf.

The growls alert her of its presence, and nothing is comforting about the beast now, the unrelenting sounds making her cringe.

Faster, she pushes herself, running her hand along the wall to keep her going forward, to give a sense of direction in the maze of tunnels.

The lack of light distorting her vision, making her all the more privy to the cacophony around her.

She can feel it, coming closer, nearer, its breath at the nape of her neck.

The burst of light almost makes her cry out, stumbling forward into the morning sun, the outbreak of dawn.

But the wolf is faster, sliding past her to bar her exit. A menacing growl ripping through its mouth, teeth bared in a fearsome snarl.

She flinches back, expecting it to pounce, tear out her throat, lap up her blood.

But her eyes become transfixed on the beast before her, how its snarling has ceased, morphing into a howl.

Filled with pain of the deepest kind, of a desperation.

She stands uncomprehending of the events unfolding before her. Uneasy at what she is seeing.

The wolf howls once more, back arching and figure shifting.

Her mouth drops, observant of the scene. Muscles contracting, bones shrinking, fur retracting into skin.

And all she can think in her astounded mind is that she is right. This is no ordinary wolf.

A cry of utmost distress and it collapses onto the floor, nails scuffing grass as paws become hands, grey fur lightens, and a tail disappears.

She doesn't know what to do, and the helplessness is overwhelming.

"Go… inside…"

She blinks, startled that he spoke, more amazed that it brings forth a sense of recognition, but no less forceful in her tone. "No."

"Please…" He begs, ending in a yell as his body arcs of the floor, spine realigning.

Some part of her want to be defiant, to refuse his plea; part stubborn at having to turn back when she had gotten this far, part not wanting to leave him in such a state.

The more she watches, the more she wants to see his face, wants to wait until it is no longer covered in fur.

Yet she finds herself turning, complying to his wishes. Biting her lip when hearing his yelps.

Hating herself for being so useless.

Confused at why he seems so familiar.

Childishly, she covers her ears, all but running back through the cave. Having heard more than enough screams for one day.

* * *

Her neck is stiff, muscles protesting weakly when stretching, limbs aching from sleeping on the floor.

But she is alive, and for that she is grateful.

Easing herself up, she realises her hands are healed from the cuts gathered yesterday. Her gaze flickers to the bottles, seeing how one is empty.

The small scrapping of wood catches her attention, causing her to jump when realising what the source is.

The cloak blends him into the stone, the outline of his figure barely discernible.

He does not look up, focused on the task before him. Working on a small block of wood, slowly taking the shape of something she can't quite make out from the distance.

His hands working quickly, skilled with a small knife that he uses to carve the wood.

Again, his hood is drawn, cowl pulled over his face, hiding any signs of his identity, of the glimpse of blond hair she recalls seeing.

"You're a shape-shifter." It's so obvious to point out, but still she finds the need to do so; see if he will reply.

He doesn't speak, hands still working diligently on his model.

"Why did you save me?" She tries a different approach, seeing he will not talk about his ability.

He stops. Placing the wood work down beside him, the movement of his hood showing he is looking towards her. "I need you."

There is no inflection of any emotions in his voice. Neither smooth nor rough, she cannot tell what he means.

Does he seek to cause her harm? It seems plausible. Why else would he 'need' her?

"What do you require?" She asks, thinking of what she has to offer. Her magic, her soul, her blood?

"Just you." He replies monotone, giving nothing away.

She sighs, annoyed at the lack of input from him.

"Eat up, we need to travel soon." He says, gesturing to the small mound of fruit she had failed to notice before, hands returning to the wood.

She makes no reply. He just expects that she will go with him? Her eyes flicker to his form, uneasy at how concealed he is. Of course he does.

But she wants an explanation. There is no way to know whether he is trustworthy. So he saved her life, but that stands for little when he is holding her captive.

Reluctantly, she selects the apple, wiping away the juices dripping down her chin. Shortly done with it, she eats more greedily, filling the empty hole inside her, feeling better after.

When she is done, he stands, the roof of the cave tall enough to allow him to do so.

In one motion, he picks up the lamp - the only source of light other than the small crack high above, turning to face her.

The gesture implying that he is waiting for her to be done.

She stands too, following suit to leave, hunger sated for now.

But his arm stops her, blocking her path and she wonders why.

Without a word, he hands her a cloak, dark as his own, old and worn to the touch.

She is shocked at the gesture, gratefully slipping it around her shoulders, voicing her thanks.

He simply shrugs, taking the lead to exit the cave, the lamp guiding their way. Making the path easier, more traversable.

The day is bright, the sun blinding her eyes as she steps out into the clearing. But she loves the feel of the warmth on her skin, feeling as though she has been in the dark for too long, though when in reality it has been only a few hours.

A soft melody fills the air, and the music is so familiar she turns in wonder, searching for the source of the sound.

But he holds nothing, arms moving beneath his claok as he watches the trees, lamp left doused at the entrance.

A neigh breaks the air, a mare soon following behind it. Her flaxen chestnut coat a deep red in the morning sun.

The horse nuzzles close to him affectionately, her nose brushing against his chest, snorting in a heavy breath.

He mounts easily, feet out of the stirrups, taking the reins in one hand, holding his other out to her.

She does not understand his actions, how… chivalrous it is, but still she takes his waiting hand, using it and the empty stirrup to pull up into the saddle.

It is uncomfortable; it is not meant for two people, and she is awkwardly close to him.

But he does not seem to mind, or if he does, he does not say.

Embarrassed at being too near, she tentatively winds her arms around his waist, glad he cannot see her blush, almost certain she hears him laugh, feeling ridiculous for thinking it - he doesn't seem like the one to laugh.

With a gentle cluck, the mare sets off, only the clomp of her hooves filling the silence.

"Where are we headed?" She questions, curious of their destination. Rationalising that if he truly means to kill her, he would have done so by now.

"Lanayru spring," he says simply, words muffled by the fabric hiding his mouth.

She is reassured by knowing where it lies, but pondering why there.

It is a place for prayers to the light spirit, to ask for guidance, for assistance. She cannot fathom why he has chosen that location.

They ride in silence for the remainder of the way, the journey short for they are already in Lanayru province, it is just a matter of crossing the land.

She knows that the easiest path would be to ride through what was her village, but she is amazed to find that this is not the way they go.

He leads them through the woods, taking them west through the trees.

From where she is; the scenery they are passing through, she imagines that when she collapsed, he had taken her south, thus making it logic that north would be the easiest path to the spring, cutting though Nayrule.

Yet he does not appear lost - though it would be hard to tell anyways.

The trip is longer as consequence, they have followed the path through the trees, eventually curving round so that they are headed north.

But she is rather thankful.

See knows not of what has become of her village, and she intends to leave it that way.

The pain is still raw; the tears pricking her eyes are proof enough, and dwelling on her loss will gain nothing.

Though the guilt gnaws away at her, to be leaving her loved ones unburied, not receiving the funeral they deserve, she cannot stomach the thought of seeing them.

Worried that to go would corrupt what joyous memories she has of them.

That to see their mangled corpses would burn the image in her mind, erasing the remembrance of happier times permanently.

No, though she feels disrespectful, she convinces herself that it is the right choice.

It is for the sake of her sanity that she lets him avoid it, not even asking why he chose this way, content with the fact that he has.

When they arrive, the sun has risen higher in the sky, temperature rising, birds full in chorus.

It is an amicable atmosphere, accompanied by the gentle lapping of water, it radiates calm.

He waits for her to dismount first, giving his arm as a means of support before he too slides off, more graceful than she can ever hope to achieve.

Wordlessly, he enters the resting space of the great serpent.

Not paying any respect before he takes out bottles from his satchel, filling them with the spring's clear waters.

She is astounded. It has been embedded from her days as a young girl to bless the spirits when visiting. His behaviour throws her completely.

Though she does not allow him to be of distraction, skirts fanning around her kneeling form, hands clasped to her bosom, she begins to pray.

Eyes closed, she does not see how he watches her intently.

Knowing that he should be doing the same, but he can't.

He will not respect some glowing animal when they left him, refused to help, stating they were powerless to assist.

But still he wonders if he should. He was raised in the same way as her.

Yet he does not move, not until her eyes reopen, instantly moving to him.

Uneasy of the bottle he offers, eyeing it confusedly.

The waters are said to be providing, helping to clear a restless mind, ease any ailments, not for mere drinking water.

She does not realise his intentions when he gestures towards her arm, watching as he moves to sit bedside her.

"The arrow was poisonous, hence you blacked out. The potions stopped it from killing you, but this will help it heal." He states nonchalantly as he dabs the wound with the water, keeping his voice intentionally low.

Both observant of how the skin knits together, leaving nought but a thin line of pink as a reminder.

"Thank you," she replies, strangely touched that he cares for her well-being, suspicious of a deeper meaning.

He nods, quickly moving away as she tilts her head slightly. Attempting to catch a glimpse of the face behind the hood.

Her eyebrows needle together, almost disappointed. She wants to see him, to determine that she does not know him. That the twinge of recognition is nothing more than a simple gratitude, a building comfort of being in his presence, the absurd assurance that she is safe near him.

When he offers the bottle once more, she accepts it, realising that it is a possibilty that water will not be so readily available wherever they are headed next.

She takes a deep gulp from the bottle. Feeling it chase the onset of fatigue that is already mounting in her weary muscles, unsuspecting of the flash of images that assault her mind.

Her vision tips, colours swirl in a blend of hues, but a figure is distinct.

A white dress cloaks her form, blonde hair long and golden. She knows it is her in the springs refection, but she looks so different. A woman, tall, and mysterious beckons her to sit. To strum a lyre, playing a gentle requiem. To bless the heavens, to feel the ancient magic awaken in her veins…

Blackness ensures, the scene dissolves, and she's on her back.

Staring at the damp ceiling, the cold seeping through her cloak and thin dress.

Her head lolls to the side, feeling too heavy upon her neck.

She notices him crouching beside her, and she can finally see his eyes. Those deep cyan eyes, a measure of worry building in them. A name on her lips…

No, it is not he. It cannot be him sat before her.

_He is dead… _her minds screams at her, remembering the crushing realisation when finding his house empty one morning.

The burn of tears is hot in her throat, moisture building along her waterline as she begins to sit up. She looks down, feeling the salty droplet roll down her cheek.

His hand reaches out, catching the tear before it runs further. She does not speak, unknowing of what to say as his thumb traces her cheekbone.

"I'm fine," she says, feeling the lie, certain he hears it too.

He does not look convinced, but it is hard to tell with only his eyes visible. Standing up, he pulls her to her feet, drooping her hand as soon as she is steady.

No more is spoken as they leave the spring, silently remounting the mare who has waited loyal, patiently awaiting their return.

Her hands are round his waist once again, more sure with having encountered the problem before, but no less rosy in her face to be so close to a man, even one that she cannot be sure that she knows.

She wants to ask for his name, ascertain it will convince her it is not who she wants it to be. But she does not, she is well aware that were he to reply, likely it would be cryptic, puzzling her further.

Yet it is not that reason alone that is the cause of her hesitance. She does not want to hear his name. Not when she knows it will only end in disappointment.

As they ride through the province, she feels him tense, the subtle movement enough that she is aware of it beneath her hands.

She does not understand why though. For as far as she can see, the forest is calm. The gentle breeze rustling the greenery, birds cawing their evening songs. The serenity at contrast with her restless mind.

She cannot cognize her vision; what it entails. It is mildly frustrating to be so lost of its meaning, but it is the least of her worries now.

He all but jumps off the horse, running further into the woods, stripping his cloak, the tunic underneath.

Confusion is prominent as she watches him oddly. Something close to disappointment rising when noticing the cowl be removed. Again, there is the desire to see his face, unclothed for her to look upon.

She makes to yell out what he is doing when that piercing sound breaks the air.

It spears her heart, to hear a cry of such pain.

But what can she do? She does not know how to help, or even that she can.

The feeling of unsatisfaction, of impending hopelessness is overbearing.

So she sits, waiting. As stationary as the mare beneath her. Waiting for the large beast to come out through the trees.

Minute pass, the howls subsiding, sky darkening as the hour of twilight takes it place.

Finally he appears, footfall eerily silent as he parades over to them, nearly as tall as the mare itself.

He does not look towards her, turning his head as though communing with the other animal, the low growls and whinnies strengthening that thought.

It is then she sees the bundle of fabrics in his mouth, the colour showing it to be his clothes.

Anxiously, for she is not sure how he will respond, her hand taps his head, barely reaching down for it is the same height as her knee.

Instantly, his head moves to her direction, though he does not look up, and she knows this is because he can't, not as a wolf.

"I will carry your clothes… if you want…" she speaks, almost shyly.

He pauses, turning once more to face the front before he nods, opening his mouth to let her take the items, mindful of his teeth.

Placing the in her lap, she folds them. The simple task focusing her mind away from the burdens that she has no answer for, the enigmas that are endlessly circulating, their answers seemingly impossible.

Of their own accord, her eyes focus on the great beast.

She supposes he is beautiful. Compared to all other wolves she has seen, his coat is glossier, muscles more powerful, stature more majestic.

There is the temptation to stroke the fur, to feel the softness under her palm, but she will not demean him like that. He is still a human despite his current transformation.

She twines her fingers together, holding his clothes between her digits.

Thinking of his bright blue eyes.

So very familiar… she thinks of the man she once knew. One who had eyes as blue as the wolf beside her.

Hair neither blonde nor brunette, much like the human inside the beast.

But physical characteristics are not enough to base her theories on. Even his voice gives no clue. Too deep to belong to whom she remembers, yet there is a nagging that that pitch is deliberate.

That the cowl is not only masking his identity but his voice too…

Curiosity builds, intrigue growing. Rationalised by seeing if he responds, nothing more, nothing less.

One breath, it is an experiment.

"Link…"

His ears twitch, but nought else. She tries not to feel too crestfallen, his ears moved to listen to her, that was all.

"I'm sorry, you just remind me of someone…" she justifies, feeling the need to explain.

Bemused when he laughs, the chortle low and grumbling, but a laugh nonetheless.

It is so out of place, that she frowns. But a wolf cannot speak, and so she does not ask what amuse him so.

Yet she wants to sate the questions in her mind. One that rose as soon as she laid her eyes upon his form; just who exactly is he?

Yet nothing gives her any repose to what she longs to put at rest.

To know whether it is he who walks beside her, defying the odds of impossibility. That the empty home was not a sign of his death, only of his unexplained disappearance.

To justify the thoughts that seem so absurd, yet burn with the brightness of valid truth.

Is it coincidence that he has the characteristics of the one whom she lost? Or just a cruel chasm of fate, spurned by the twisted intentions of the goddesses, seeking to stir poison into her aching heart?

Again, her musings are not graced with a reply. Only the beating of hooves and paws crunching over shredded leaves, the soft breaths of both mammals filling the silence.

Deciding to think of a lighter topic, she debates on where they are headed next.

There is no indication as to which direction they are headed, the moon is not full enough to cast shadows and the thick canopy conceals the stars.

Before she can stop it, she sighs, drawing her cloak tighter about her body, attempting to ward off the chill that grows from within.

She has lost so much, it weighs heavy on her soul. The guilt adding to her shame.

If she had practised with her bow, perhaps a life other than her own would have been spared. She shakes away the thoughts, she could have been the greatest archer known to man, but it still would not have been nearly enough.

War is brutal, that much she knows.

How maliciously the Gerudo tore through her village, destination of Castle town, murdering innocents because they could.

An act of violence to show their power.

There had been word, that other villages were being burned where they stood, the woman beaten, children slaughtered, men killed ruthlessly or forced into submission.

That the forces from the western desert were growing stronger with every moment, their forces more powerful than what Hyrule could manage.

But though it is selfish to say, she does not care.

It is not her battle. She has already lost everything.

She is not upon the throne, she does not dictate the countries affairs. She could not care less what happens to Hyrule.

Let it burn. It did not save her home, she will not fight for the land.

The wolf brushes her leg, a low whine emitting from its mouth, noticing her despondent expression.

He is so much more attentive to her as a beast than a man.

Her hand strokes his head before she can hold herself back. Running through his fur, coarse and soft in the most unusual way.

He does not seem to mind, pushing closer to her hand, both comforted by the peace the other provides.

Time does not pass by longer than an hour when they stop. Her legs are stiff; held in one position too long, feet weak from being unused.

It is not hard to realise they have stopped for camp.

Easier to use her magic for ignition than to rub the collected sticks together; the fire instantly sparks, providing warmth to her cold hands as she places stones around its base, preventing the fire from expanding outside its confinements.

Focused more on the flames in front, she did not notice how he leaves. Retuning shortly with a rabbit in his mouth, dropping it unceremoniously at her feet.

She is at a loss of how to prepare it, at least not without a knife.

Her musings are said out loud, the wolf tilting his head towards the mare, nose pointing at one of the satchels.

Understanding the gesture, her hands search through them, amazed to find supplies of bandages and potions in their depths, even finding an apple to which she chucks to the mare.

Her fingers brush against something rough, but she thinks nought of it, briefly wondering how a stone came to be in there.

Yet these will not help her, and alas she moves to the next, eventually locating a small knife.

The edge are blunt, the blade dull through wear, but it suffices nicely as a means to prepare the rabbit.

She is impressed he caught one, especially at so late an hour. Though it is of no complaint to her. It is food, and she is thankful for something to fill her empty stomach.

Using the knife to cut it in half, she tosses one side to him, laughing softly at how he snatches it from the air, gulping it down it one go.

"Did it even touch the sides?" she laughs, savouring her own far more slowly, enjoying the tender meat far more than the pieces of fruit that were her light breakfast.

He responds by barking happily, moving to lie by the fire, lighter undercoat exposed to the warmth.

"Your just a big dog really aren't you?" her tone is mildly chastising, amused at how easily shifts from a protective and feral wolf to a sleepy canine.

His tongue lolls out, the rumbling laugh shaking his frame.

Her chuckle at his antics echoes around them, a happiness that has been absent bubbling inside her.

Stomach full, body tired from the travelling, she lays her body down, as near to the fire possible without burning.

Questions are still needed to be answered, but as sleep pervades, they melt away, giving way to dreams of white gowns and golden hair.

* * *

Morning rises, the sun warm on her face, creating red behind her eyelids.

She wakes slowly, feeling more relaxed than sleeping on stone.

He is already up, fire doused, set to go.

She cannot but smile sheepishly, feeling as though she has slept too long.

Fruit is left in a pile where she can reach, the spare bottle filled with Lanayru's water.

It is a wonder he could find anything, the trees do not look bearing in the area she can see.

But he has likely been up for a while, providing time for him to scour the lands in search for food of some substance.

She thinks of the previous dawn, of the crippling transformation that occurred. Once glance at the sky shows that it is far off noon, but not as early as dawn either.

Quite unexpectedly, she feels sympathy for him. The cruelty of being confined to a… well, she is not sure what it is, but a curse seems fitting.

A man from the break of dawn until the hour of twilight rises, half a day spent as man, the other he is trapped as a beast.

She prefers him as the latter, when he is so much more jovial and not cloaked like some shadow tying to blend with the dark.

"Why do you hide yourself like that?" She asks, feeling rude for prying into his privacy, but her intrigue getting the better of her.

"It is better this way," he replies enigmatically, not looking up from the continuing of the wood carving.

Yet that does not curb her, "how so?"

He does not give an answer immediately, thinking it over. "To reveal my face would only cause complications in the long run."

"That's a shame," she sighs dramatically, shoulders shrugging in an overly exaggerated manner. "I bet your handsome under all that."

Her smile is triumphant when he does not speak for seconds after.

"What gives you that idea?" He finally says, still not looking up, voice just as monotonous as ever.

"Well," she begins, "you're a handsome wolf, so its makes sense that as man you would be too."

At this, he laughs, shaking his head at her deductions. "Believe what you shall, it does not matter whether I am or not."

"Then I will assume you are ridiculously attractive, and are worried that I will swoon at your feet should I happen to gaze upon your charming face." She replies boldly, amusement ringing in her words.

Not usually is she so courageous as to assume so much, but though part of her actually believes her words hold a measure of truth, the other just wants a reaction.

"And what if I am?" He answers, humouring her.

She shrugs, secretly glad they are making progress. "I guess I shall never know due to your unyielding qualities."

Again, he chuckles and there is something so irritatingly familiar about the sound.

"At least tell me your name" she begs, indigo eyes aglow with her want.

He thinks back to what she called him, tempted to say that she already knows, but deciding against it. Bonding will only lead to fatal consequences. He cannot let her know who he is.

"Lykos," he states, the name rolling easily of his tongue.

"Oh." Her eyes drop, seemingly saddened, "you truly do remind me of someone I once knew…"

There is a note in her voice, that speaks of such a crushed hope that it is a battle to remain seated. To not reveal whom he really is.

"Are you ready to go?" He changes the subject, aiming to detract the focus away from himself.

"I… yes," she agrees finally, dusting off her dress, rubbing the brown marks staining the green fabric stubbornly before following behind to mount the mare. The melancholy still clear in her eyes.

The ride is tense, he knows not what to say, how to ease her sorrow without divulging too much.

It is tormenting.

He wants to squeeze her hand like he once did, the simple gesture significant of so much. Yet it has been years, three since he last saw her. Last embraced her as more than friends, not yet lovers.

Three long years since he was cursed. Forced to leave what he called home behind.

Leave her believing that he was dead.

_It is better this way__… _he justifies, he cannot let them feelings resurface.

Not if he wants to succeed, to be finally be free of the curse that is plaguing his life.

To let affection take root in his heart would make matters decidedly more difficult.

But goodness she is so tantalising near.

Just the feel of her arms around his waist loosely is driving him mad.

The hitched breaths alerting of her tears.

He may be a beast, but he is no monster.

Before he can talk himself out of it; he takes her hand, squeezing it lightly in an act of comfort, rubbing his thumb over the back of hers like he used to, hearing her sigh of comfort.

"Your more open today…" she remarks, a sliver of suspicion in her tone.

He worries he had done too much, that his charade will not continue to last, but he cannot help but question himself; does he want it to?

How easy it would be to rip the garments from his face, to let her finally see him. To touch his lips to hers like he once did, to feel her slim waist beneath his fingers.

"The one I remind you of… did he mean a lot to you?" He speaks softly, not betraying any of the hope that simmers under the surface, to know if she still cares or if she has moved on.

He would not blame her if she had; it has been years.

"He still does," she admits, "I cannot forget about him despite the announcement that he died…"

He stills. Feeling a smile ris on his mouth, thankful she cannot see it. But he cannot allow it to change anything.

"How do you know he is dead?" Instantly he berates himself for saying it. Why install hope when it will only be shattered?

"I… I don't. A villager told me, and I… I just assumed…" she breathes, and the fragile spark of hope rekindles. "Do you think he could be alive?"

He is unsure of how to reply, of what to say that will not result in her despondency, but that will not give the false illusion to put her faith in.

"Perhaps," he begins, "but I cannot say that I know," he finishes abruptly, hating himself for it, but knowing it is the only way.

He will not allow himself to fall for her again, or at least not let the already present feelings grow stronger. Not if he is to do what he had waited so long for.

Yet to hear her call his name out as she slept, so filled with a longing, a want, a need…. It pulls at his very being.

He almost sighs with relief when the next spring comes into view, immensely grateful to have something to distract his thoughts with. Away from battling with his own desires, to follow what his heart is begging for him to do, or to achieve what he had sought for.

Her huff of confusion comes from behind him and he can hear her bewilderment in it.

Another spring, and she does not know why.

He will not tell her. He has no intention of ever telling her. She is a means to an end. That is all he can see her as. All he must see her as.

Though it is so much easier said than done.

"Is there a reason we are here? Water can be collected from Lanyaru…" she questions, the edge of distrust implied.

He shrugs, not having a reason that he can give to her.

He had deliberately taken them to Faron woods so that they can reach every spring in a methodological manner - avoiding the centre of Hyrule where the war rages most.

It is ironic that he wants to keep her safe when he will ultimately be the one to bring her pain.

But it is a part of him - to fight for her safety.

He will never admit it to her, but seeing her caught in the raid on her village, trapped like a dear at the point of being shot - he was honestly afraid.

Selfish too, but predominantly afraid.

Scared that she was to be killed so brutally, so effortlessly. He vowed from the day he left he would no longer traffic in her world, but he had always kept watch.

He had stood observant of her becoming a young women, on the cusp of her eighteenth birthday, to watch her learn the crafts of her village, fascinated by how beautiful she had become.

The observations always a part of his desires that he could not repress, berating himself for not letting her go, but all so thankful that he had been there at the attack, all those years of silently watching giving him the advantage, allowing him to act quickly, save her before death.

But he is selfish, and he loathes it about himself.

He is not even certain whether it was due to his protectiveness, due to a caring that had never ceased, that he had continued to watch her.

Or because he knew she was the one. That her death at that time would result in his trapping, that he would never be rid of the curse plaguing his body.

Having grown up with her gave him an insight to so many things, most especially her use of magic.

How from the age of thirteen, when angry; her hair would lift in a breezed that zeroed only on her. How her happiness would cause flowers to bloom, regardless of season or hour, or that her eyes would glow violet when he kissed her…

Thirteen when her inborn magic began to show. The age when his hereditary curse awakened…

Another three years before the magic takes full root, souls able to be awakened.

Curses rearing their ugly heads, no longer able to remain in the village…

Three years he has spent of endless transformations. From twilight to dawn he is a beast without fail. Three years that he has searched for some other way to be free, always coming back to her…

He is sick of it.

He cannot let feelings obstruct his goal, not when he has waited so long.

She is the one who will end this curse, and he will do what it takes to break free from it.

* * *

**If there is anything that was not understood, please feel free to say and I will reply.**

**Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, and as always, all reviews are welcome. The next chapter will be up soon.**


	2. The End

**Thank you so much to Zelda3469, Anarion Star-Dragon and LauParisi, Staarsgazer and Pineapple- Sorceress: your reviews are very much appreciated.**

**And so we have it, the final chapter to "The Red On Her Dress", I do hope you enjoy it.**

**Re-edited 11th October due to some glaringly obvious mistakes... And 29/10/12 as the ending wasn't sitting well.**

* * *

The sky is captured by twilight when they set off for Ordon, claiming it in a mixture of russet reds, deep purples and swirls of pink. The moon grinning down on the maiden and the wolf.

She struggles to keep herself awake. It is barely late enough to be considered nightfall, yet she is tired.

The dreams are stronger, invading more than just her sleeping mind.

The waters of Faron had looked so cooling, so refreshing to her dry throat that she had drank her fill, forgetting about the odd visions until they begun.

More stitches are weaved into the ever-growing fabric of what the visions entail. That the golden-haired woman bears the same name as her own, yet referred to as "Hylia" by the guardian in black.

A name that she has no recollection of having ever heard directed at herself, but one that sparks a feeling of knowing.

As though awakening a memory, long forgotten in the abscess of her mind.

Perhaps it is a figment of her imagination - a curious combination of both intrigue and trying to somehow relate herself to the woman - but she is sure that her hair is lighter. Less of a dark mahogany, and more of an auburn. That her eyes are no longer the deepest navy, but a peculiar shade of indigo.

She believes she is going mad. But that theory is rejected as soon as she proposes it to herself.

Madness detonates the loss of one's mind, the incomprehensibility of understanding one's surroundings and mental awareness. Traits she posses full capability of, thus showing madness, thankfully, is not her answer.

The springs are doing something to her, but as for what… she does not hold the explanation for.

Not until she had consumed the spring's water did the visions initiate. Showing that they are indeed responsible for her recent dreams, perhaps even lost memories.

Yet as for being any closer to what they are representative of; she does not know.

She cannot deny that she feels a connection to this "Hylia" despite having no indication as to what that may be.

But surely there is a reason for the visions? It cannot be a simple whimsical notion of chance for he drank the waters too, but alas received no change.

And so the question begs; what is their purpose?

There is a suspicion, albeit slight, that he knows.

A desire to know of his intentions behind these journeys.

She has noticed the strategic method he is using, that they have completely avoided central Hyrule.

What if he had only saved her to have the satisfaction of killing her himself?

She almost laughs at the dark direction of her thoughts, but the rising unease in her stomach does not allow her to brush it aside so easily.

Why did he save her?

He "needs" her?

But why, for what?

The empty void that her mind creates due to its lack of answers is undoubtedly frustrating.

With the growing certainty that she knows him somehow constantly ebbing at her mind, adding fuel to her infuriation. The blonde hair, the blue eyes…

She wants to believe it is him, she wants it to be true so badly that she wishes for it with her very being.

But what if he does mean to bring her demise?

Could she truly bear it if the one she had loved, loves still, is simply leading her to death?

It is difficult to comprehend what she thinks.

She is not even certain that it is in fact him, but she wonders.

The temptation to investigate is ever rising. The desire to remove his cowl before he can react, see his face unhidden.

Yet if it is whom she wants it to be, she won't be able to infiltrate his reflexes. She has never been able to, not even as children.

Try though she would to sneak upon him, cover him in leaves, throw a snowball at the back of his head… He would always elude it.

Dodging the frozen ball of snow before it could collide, side-stepping suddenly just as she dropped the leaves.

She even used to joke that he had the hearing of a wolf…

Her sigh is soft, lost in the memories of earlier years, but the beast beside her turns, nudging her hand with his cold nose.

Instantly she smiles, musing how someone who may want to kill her, can be so attune to her thoughts, so ready to provide comfort in any way that he can.

Still, she finds it odd how affectionate he is as a wolf when as a man he hardly speaks.

Almost as if he has got something to hide…

The second nudge is not for her peace, but as to alert her of their destination.

Though she dismounts and walks to the lapping waters edge, she does not drink it.

Wary of what will be shown next, yet somewhat eager to know.

But alas, though she is curious; to learn more of the mysterious Hylia, she does not succumb to her intrigue. She is tired, even a day spent travelling atop a horse can be draining, and as of such, she feels dead on her feet.

Wearily, she unbuttons her cloak, using it a blanket to shelter herself from the harsh winds that whip across her face, casting the sand into her eyes.

Involuntary, she shivers, pulling the cloak tighter about her shoulder, arranging her hair so that it may keep her ears warm.

The attempts are futile; she cannot be bothered to make a fire, but wishes for its warmth.

Yet to move would releases any heat that she may have built, and in the unrelenting winds it is of no certainty that the fire would even take.

After several moments, she gives up, unable to sleep due to her shivers.

Begrudgingly, she begins to sit up before she is stopped.

The wolf moves from his position adjacent to her. Moving at first to grab the cloak he wears as a human, he drops it at her side before he curls around her form, flank pressed against her back, his fur a more than a welcome heat.

She won't deny that she is amazed, but at present moment she is more grateful than anything else, snuggling in as close to his warmth as possible.

Though when he snorts suddenly, she jumps.

"What was that for?" She demands, turning so that she faces him, annoyed that he interrupted her path to sleep. Her momentary irritation overlooking the fact that he cannot reply.

Rather, he tosses his head, nose wrinkling action is so bizarre that she laughs, amused at how he acts as a wolf.

"Do I smell that bad?" she asks amidst her chuckling, her joy increasing when the emotion in his eyes is of agreement.

Well, what does he expect? She has not been bathed for several days, her hair is greasy, the red on her dress barely discernible from the mud that is embedded into the seams.

"If I bathe tomorrow will you be happy?" she asks, eyebrow quirked in his wolf nods once, tongue lolling out in the way she knows is how he expresses his entertainment.

"Very well, as long as you promise not to look!"

He gives a low grumble of a laugh, deliberately placing his paw over his eyes as he lies back down.

Still grinning at his antics, she too resumes her position, so much warmer with her wolf by her side that sleep comes blissfully.

Her mind still imagining the peculiar women, even without drinking the waters.

The guardian is still by her side as always; ever vigilant of her welfare, but this time she sees a man.

Relief washes over his face as she turns, the absolute delight at her presence ringing in his words as he calls out her name. A grin stretches wide across her face as she calls out to the dark blond man, her unconscious distantly realising who he is before she speaks…

_Link_…

Her eyes are shot open, blinking at the sun, gasping at the shock of blond hair that swarms her vision.

"Link," she exhales before her mind can comprehend what she is thinking, her dreaming self holding charge over her mouth.

Yet it is not only at calling out a name unintentionally that makes her gasp for a second time, but that he turns slightly, as though he is responding to it.

The absence of his cloak, the one still strewn across her body, focuses her attention onto his gorgeous cyan eyes that captured her heart from the very first day.

Flickering over her form once before returning to their downcast state.

Almost absentmindedly, she stands as though she is doing nought but stretching, stealing glances at him every few seconds, confirming that his attention is focused elsewhere.

Gauging her distance from him, diminishing it slowly with every movement of her muscles.

It is in one fell swoop that she tackles him, hands reaching for the cowl, not even remotely close to touching the fabric before they are pinned above her head, well out of range from his cowl.

"What are you doing?" He all but growls, eyes blazing.

She does not answer, she knew fine well that would not work, but the position allows her to see him closer. Closer than what she ever been, able to see the flecks of silver in his irises.

"This," she replies, pushing herself forwards as far as his restraint will allow, biting the cowl between her teeth as she pulls it down.

She means to take in his face, to ascertain her ever-growing suspicion, but she cannot.

Not when he is kissing her.

Her eyes close in surrender, the soft feel of his lips melding against hers so reminiscent of what she once had, of what she lost.

But that is what he waits for she realises, for her to shut her eyes so that he may break from it, grabbing his cloak in the hopes that she had not seen too much.

She has though, and the revelation is simultaneously joyful and sorrowing.

He is not dead; he stands before her in the flesh, the sight causing her exuberance to peak.

Yet he hides himself from her, and she cannot fathom why he does so.

Her voice is feeble as she asks why he conceals himself like so, words barely above a whisper.

"I am not who you think I am," he says enigmatically, visage once more cast into the shadows of his hood.

"Your Link," she pleads, berating herself for sounding so weak, "the man I-"

"Don't," he snarls, enough venom dripping from his tone that she flinches.

"I don't understand-" she begins, but once again he cuts her off.

His sigh is heavy as he pinches the bridge of his nose, "I am a beast, Zelda. I cannot love you like I did."

"You could, I can see past the beast, Link…" she begs, wanting to rise from her position on the floor, wanting to move closer to him, but afraid to do so.

"What makes you think I love you anyways?"

Despite the hindrance of his cowl, the words are sharp. Ripping the very fabric of her soul, the poison laced within them enough that the blood stills in her veins.

To that, she does not have an answer, mouth working, but failing to emit any sounds.

"I... I see," she finally murmurs, glancing down so that her hair masks her tears, determined not to let him see her so hurt at the conjecture. "If you don't mind, I wish to bathe, and I would rather do so alone." Her voice does not waver, and it is nought more than a small satisfaction to her dull disposition.

Wordlessly, he leaves. Grabbing the reins of his horse and leaving her sitting. Feeling too shocked to cry, too humiliated to even move.

But her body does not listen to her mind, and silently her tears fall.

Slipping from her cheeks to gather in the hollow of her collarbone.

Enough that they trickle further, adding more grime to her dress that is a fabrication of all that she has suffered.

Her fingers trace a splatter of blood that is not her own, obtained from when she collapsed, soaking up the red from those who had fallen.

It is without emotion that she removes the dress carelessly, tossing it behind her with the rest of her garments.

The water is soothing, she can feel it ease her weariness, but its properties are even the sounds of the gentle flow from the waterfalls can curb her sorrow.

Nor do the chirpy calls of birds distract her from her pain.

She wraps her arms around her torso, not knowing how to feel.

He is not dead. But he does not want anything to do with her.

Joy, anger and despondency roll together in one tremulous wave, threatening to send her under.

She does not even know how she is supposed to feel. Three years of wondering, never truly believing that he had died, refuting the stories that walking through the woods, he had been attacked.

Body too mangled to be recognised, too much in a bad state to be brought back home or so Rusl had said…

The signs of his changing had been there since he was thirteen. How his hearing had drastically improved, eyes always holding a sharp confidence, footfall barely audible.

She should have seen the lie. He was not attacked; a body could not be recovered as there wasn't one to begin with.

Goodness she was such a fool.

Her suspicions had risen, but without evidence to confirm, they had dwindled to nothing more than a faint curiosity.

Admittedly, too caught up in her changes to notice his.

That she could manipulate the elements around her, that cuts and scrapes would heal themselves, that her speech became more formal.

She feels stupid for not realising it.

That he is trying to awaken the spirit in her that has long been dormant.

She can remember the stories of a mortal women who harboured the soul of a goddess.

The names lost through the holes in time, but she is willing to bet that her name was Zelda.

Her reflection is confirmation of her thoughts. It is by accident that she has drank the water, and though the visions do not come - deterred by her swarm of emotions - her appearance is already changing.

Auburn becomes a dark blonde, irises with a twinge of violet to their decreasing blue.

The change is startling, she does not look like herself at first glance, but the small factors remain unchanged; the curve of her lips, arc of her eyebrows, point of her chin. It is a welcoming realisation.

But as for what it means she cannot say.

Why is it of such a significance to him that she becomes Hylia?

Perhaps she can reverse his curse?

Questioning that theory - that her magic is potent enough for such a powerful spell- she lays her hands out on the rippling surface of the pool, words of movement, of fluidity spoken in a tongue has not learnt.

Slowly, the water bubbles under palms, washing over her fingertips as the energy builds.

Large turrets of water rise to the skies, almost as if a waterfall is heading towards the clouds.

Bewildered by the ability, she does it again, feeling a childlike amusement that is a soothing balm to her aching heart.

She does not question how she knows the spell, Hylia knows and thus she does too.

Hopeful, she thinks of Link, racking her brain for any spells that would release him from his torment.

Though it is not like the water, the incantation does not reveal itself in her mind, she assumes even Hylia does not know.

Why does she want to help him anyways?

A debt perhaps? He saved her life, she salvages his?

But she does not know what spell is needed, if a ritual must be performed…

Unbidden ideas assault her mind, that perhaps it is not her magic he is in need of…

Reflexively she ducks under the water further, feeling the illusion of protection in its depths.

He does not hold feelings for her, that much is clear, but would it be so easy for him to kill her?

She swats the answer down before she can consider it, yet the swell of anxiety already rolls her stomach.

No, he wouldn't… would he? Her uncertainty is unsettling.

There were so many times in which he behaved as a gentleman though; keeping her warm, healing her wounds…

Could someone who cares for her welfare like that truly have the ability to kill?

Or is it all a ruse to secure her trust?

She thinks of how easily his sword tore through the armour of the soldiers, unflinching of the blood that splattered the ground. Uncaring of how swiftly he ended a life.

The perfect disguise of acting chivalrous to build her trust.

Secretly harbouring the desire to end her life.

She does not have anything to live for, all those she loved, all material items have been consumed by the cruelties of reality.

But she is alive, her life is what she lives for. Be it luck that she survived, or from his intervention, but she is alive and she will not let him take that away from her.

She refuses to believe that it was simply not her time then, that she is alive so that she can die later.

The idea terrifies her. That she is a means to an end and nothing more.

But still a question rises in her mind - if she is saving another, is death so bad?

Especially when she happens to love that person.

But it is not as simple as that. It would not be a noble sacrifice of giving her life to him.

No, it feels so much likelier that he would slit her throat, catching her blood in some vessel to use how ever he may, leaving her dead body without a shred of remorse.

He loved her once, does that mean so little to him now?

Has the beast consumed his heart, ridding it of its affection, destroying its desire?

She just doesn't know.

Shakily, she climbs out of the water, using the bottom of the cloak to dry her body, unfazed that it will be wet whilst wearing it.

Her dress is pitted, grimy to the touch, a damp cloak is nothing compared to that.

Beside, she had no other choice in the matter.

Yet even with that resolve, it still feels disgusting, and she longs for the fresh clothes that she once had the luxury of. Something she took for granted, never thinking it would be ripped away from her.

How much her life has changed in less that a week…

As she picks up her belt, it knocks against something hard,

Startled, she looks for the source, expecting a nondescript item, yet seeing the wooden carving.

Her hand clasps around it, brining it closer for inspection, noticing it is a figure, a woman to be exact.

Briefly, she wonders if it is her, feeling nonsensical for her thoughts, but unable to resist believing so.

The craftsmanship is phenomenal, the most minute details precise with perfect execution.

She does not give damn if it is her, almost positive that it is, but choosing to keep a hold of it, declaring to herself the reason for keeping it is due to the workmanship, and not an item she can pin her foolish hopes on that perhaps he does care…

Holding her head high, she steps from the spring's gates, her false confidence dissipating when she spotting him resting against a tree.

Anger simmers in her fists, anguish tearing her heart.

She wants to yell and scream at him for being such a monster, but what good will that do her?

If it were not for him - she would be dead already. If not even by the hands of the woman, than by her lack of food, of shelter for the night.

There is gratefulness in her, that he has kept her alive for this long, but it is overshadowed by all else.

If it were not for him, her heart would not be bleeding, tears would not be violating her eyes and she would not feel so terrified of what the dawn may bring.

"Your done?" He says, not even turning to face her, tone disinterested.

She is incredulous. She had not realised she was expecting some sort of apology until one was not received.

"That's it?" she scoffs, "your not even going to say sorry?"

At this he moves, the absence of all his concealments a shock to her. She supposes there is not point of hiding when your identity is revealed.

"Why would I do that?" He asks sceptically.

Now she truly wants to scream at him.

"Why?" She laughs harshly, "oh, I don't know, maybe because you're a bastard?"

He stands, walking over to where she stands.

Steps slow and intent, his presence is dominating, frightening, but his eyes are unyielding, emotions hidden.

"Is that a problem?"

His tone is deathly serious, face impassive.

"As a matter of fact, it is." She replies, voice confident despite not feeling it.

His smile is cold, a lupine quality about it that raises a shiver down her spine.

"Because I do not love you?"

"No," she fires back, hurt at how simply he says it. "Because you have deceived me."

An eyebrow quirks though his expression is unreadable.

"You protect me, shelter and feed me…" her voice breaks and she is furious at being so weak, "but all you want to do is kill me…"

"How did you arrive at that conclusion?" He inquires, deadpan.

She looks away from him, sighing softly, "I am not stupid, Link, I can read the signs."

His laugh is as bitter as her own, "What motive do I have for killing you? What would I gain from your death?"

"Everything!" She cries out, "you would be free from your curse, able to resume your life fully as a man."

He shakes his head, "you have still yet to answer what signs of ill intention I have given."

"You think I have not noticed?" She says, ignoring his statement, "that my appearance has changed, my magic is enhanced, that you are awakening Hylia in me?"

At his lack of input she continues, "I read the tales when I was younger, that the goddess was reborn into a mortal, a woman who I have realised I am descendant from. That she would be the only one with a power of such magnitude that your curse would be broken, that you need me so that you can have her."

His sigh is heavy, almost burdened by something. "Your right. Hylia is the only one who can break it, this godforsaken curse of mine…"

"How do I do it?" She whispers, anxious of his response, grateful the biting tone has dissolved.

He hesitates, and her fears are confirmed before he even speaks.

"I need your blood."

She expected it to shock her, but instead she accepts it, having known what the answer would be.

"Which involves killing me." Her voice is monotonous, not quite accepting of her fate, but not able to refute it either.

He does not meet eyes, focused somewhere distant. "I don't know. I assume so, but quantities are not specified."

She looks at him, simultaneously hopeful and wary, allowing neither to be present in her voice. "So you may not have to kill me?" She will not allow herself to become filled with hope, but it is there, waiting to be recognised.

"Perhaps," he replies indifferently though there is a glimmer of an emotion behind his words, a note of what sounds optimistic. "Though do not become hopeful…" he trails, but they both know how it would finish.

"Why, Link?" She questions suddenly, "why can't you just live with the beast?"

"You make it sounds so simple…" he remarks, moving to resume his position against the tree, waiting for her to join him before he continues.

"It isn't like I change and that's is, it so much more painful." His eyes darken, voice hardening, "the agony of transforming every single night, every morning… Three years of endless searching for a cure, even the light spirits were stumped, remedies pointless…"

"Is that why you left?" She mumbles, "because you are a wolf?"

He sees the sorrow in her eyes, and for that he is sorry. "I couldn't be around you all when I was like that, the changes were too raw, too hard to control."

"You couldn't have given any warning? Rather than just disappearing one day? Rusl claiming you were dead..." Her voice cracks, eyes glistening with moisture.

"Zelda, I'm sorry, I was confused, I was sixteen, how did you expect me to react?"

"I missed you…" she mutters, cheeks tinged with her embarrassment.

He wants to say he did too, badly. But if he does have to kill her - and the certainly is high, then he does not intend to intensify her feelings.

"I had no other choice, once sixteen hits, the curse is untameable."

"But you stated showing signs three years earlier than that…" she speaks, "a curse does not take that long to reveal itself once cast."

"No," he agrees, amazed that she had paid attention, "its hereditary."

Her eyes glaze over, processing what she has heard.

"It's not really known what happened exactly, but its thought that many decades ago, one of my grandfathers was travelling with the army when they encountered a young witch practising black magic. Out of fear, they killed her, dreading what she was summoning, only to be greatly erroneous in their beliefs. It had not been black magic, but something known as twilight magic that they had never heard of."

He sighs softly, recalling the following events, "the mother soon found the corpse of her daughter and the soldiers surrounding her, furious at the scene before her, she cast a curse upon the soldiers and all their descendants; to walk the steps of a beast as twilight falls in a twist of irony that they would now be a monster of the magic they had feared."

She stared at him for a moment, a question in her thoughts, "then how do I come into this? You mentioned nought about a goddess."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he recited the old curse:

"_As sunlight falls and twilight pervades,_

_No longer will hands hold your blade._

_A curse of magic shall claim your form, _

_Holding it captive until the dawn._

_A beast of twilight you do become,_

_A fitting punishment for your wrong,_

_To break from what you see so bleak, _

_A goddess' blood is what you seek._

"The story was lost, but the curse was not. It's all I've had to go on."

"Why a wolf though?" She asked curiously, wondering if his grandfather to several degrees also had eyes similar to a beast.

"No idea, but I imagine its something to do with the old legends of a man being turned into a 'blue-eyed beast' through twilight magic. Probably the witch found it amusing." He scoffed bitterly.

"I see…" she replies, "though the curse doesn't say how you are to use my blood."

He laughs sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "I don't think I have to bathe in it."

Her pallor takes on a green hue, disgusted by what the other alternative is.

"I won't let you…" she whispers, unnerved to be talking about the possibility of her death. "I shan't let you kill me for your own selfish needs."

His eyes widen slightly, though in shock or admiration for her boldness, she cannot tell, "it won't be solely for me, I'll be saving all those other soldiers descendants from it, not to mention my own."

"Link," she begs, "I cannot comprehend you to be the one to deliver my death…"

"You think I want to?" He rebukes, regretting having said it when she gasps.

"You don't care for me, it would be easy for you."

"Easy?" He laughs without humour, shaking his head disbelievingly. "I doubt that."

"Oh? You couldn't just pick up your sword and let it slice cleanly through me?" She mocks, standing up, gesturing to herself.

"No," he growls, mirroring her movements, glowering down at her.

"You did with those Gerudo, why not me?" She continues to argue.

He resist the urge to snarl, "you're innocent, you had not committed sins like they had, you don't deserve to die."

"But you are planning to kill me regardless!" She shouts, hands balling into fists.

"For the greater good! If I could find another way I would!"

"Why? You said so yourself - you don't love me!"

"That was a lie!"

She freezes, mouth dropping.

He stands, just as immobile, realising too late what he said.

"You… wh... what?" She stutters, blinking as though it will help her think.

He does not know how to reply, or even that he can.

How he wants to sweep her into his arms, profess his love for her that never once waned. Hold her close and mumble sweet nothings into her ear.

But he can't, he won't.

His resistance is crumbling, seeing her eyes bright with hope, hindered by her anxiety.

The wall of armour built around his heart demolished by the want he feels.

His heart of ice thawed by the burn of desire in her gaze.

He will regret it later, he knows it as a certainty, but all he can think of is now, and how captivating her lips look.

She moans softly as his mouth crashes onto hers, pulling her body close to his, twining his fingers into her dark blonde hair, tracing her lower lip with his tongue.

He turns them so that her back is pressed against the tree, allowing for him to push himself closer, meeting at several strategic locations down their bodies.

His mouth moves to her neck, gently biting at the skin, sucking it softly, each small gasp of hers encouraging him further.

She runs her hands through his hair, trailing them down to the neck of his cloak, letting it pool at their feet as she unbuttons it.

Her finger dance around his belt, sliding up to meet the hard muscle of his stomach, another breathy moan escaping her at the contact.

The desire is indelible, passion wild, lust wanton.

Her dress is pulled down her shoulders, giving access to the white of her breasts, teeth nipping at the delicate skin.

He rolls her pelvis against hers, her sweet sighs of ecstasy music to his ears.

He wants her.

Now, here, right in this very moment.

But how much pain will that cause him later?

To take her, to give himself to her, only to kill her.

He can't do it, not to her, not to himself.

Reluctantly, yet knowing it is the right thing to do, he pulls back.

Enough that their embrace is broken, but so that his arms still remain around her waist, unwilling to give up all contact just yet.

"I can't Zelda, I just can't." He mutters, dropping his head to hers, ashamed at how easily he lost control, how he has led her on to let her drop.

"I know," she whispers back, brushing the hair out of his eyes, a deep sadness in her own.

It tears at him, freedom is in his reach, so close it is almost tangible.

But can he give her up in exchange?

She smiles weakly, seeing the conflicting battle in his gaze.

"I love you, Zelda. But I want to be free so bad…"

"I know," she repeats, her violet toned eyes not accepting of his plight, but understanding it. "I love you too, and if freedom is what you truly desire, I will give it to you."

He cannot hide his shock, looking up to meet her gaze. He can see her fear, her uncertainty. Yet there is a bravery, a fierce determination to help him and he truly admires her.

But he does not deserve her.

He will never deserver her. He is selfish to want her like he does, his persona volatile, tainted by the beast he is, driven by the man he wants to be.

The uncertainty of what to do is maddening. The unfamiliar territory leaving him hanging, so lost of what to decide.

"I don't want to hurt you." He whispers, wondering where his robust nature went, when he became so attached to her, so unwilling to let her go.

It was not a sudden leap, but a steady progression.

Of childhood crushes, a amicable friendship. Amounting into a noble protection, the inability to forget.

To seeing her smile, be near to him as a beast unflinchingly, cry until her eyes grew raw, eat whatever rations they found without a moments hesitation. Each small trait endearing, each warming her to him once again, relighting those embers that had never died from his younger days.

He can't kill her.

A simple fact that he does not want to.

She says she can live with the beast, he says he cannot.

Yet he has for three years, lived with it terrorising his mind and body, shifting his senses and consuming his humanity.

Though every curse has an upside.

A wolf is powerful, respected. Igniting fear where a man cannot, the terror of unpredictability.

He cannot deny that the wolf gives him freedom. The ability to run free for as long and as far as the moon will allow.

It is not a simple liberation that one finds living alone, unbound by the rules of society, obstructed by morals and manners.

No, for living alone is lonely.

Even he, an outcast from what is deemed normal, a ruthless killer moralised by righteousness seeks human company.

The longing to feel wanted, to be needed.

To have a purpose in life, even for something as mundane as making another happy.

He wants it all. Regain every last drop of what he once had.

She raises her hand to skim his jaw with her fingers, the most simplest action arousing a smile.

One look into her violet eyes and he can picture it, the joy of a house to call home, the welcoming embrace of her by his side.

"You won't have to," she says quietly, eyes flickering away from his.

Her meaning is not understood initially. A confusion of what she is implying. Though it does not take long to unveil her meaning, of what else she could mean.

"No," he states sharply, taking her face so that she is forced to look at him. "No one is dying."

"But…" she begins, "you want your freedom, your happiness…"

He presses his lips to hers softly, brushing her mouth with his own as he speaks, "I want you."

His conjecture causes her eyes to narrow, questioning the truth to his words.

"Do you?" She asks, voice low, still refusing to look at him.

He hesitates, but it is not for the reason she thinks. There is no doubt that she is what he wants, what he needs. Rather the pause is his bewilderment.

That she believes him to be ambiguous, that he does not speak validity.

"Yes." The word rings with honesty, an assuredness he has not felt for a long time.

But an uncertainty still lingers in her aura, that she refuses to believe him.

It hurts, that she questions his feelings when she accused him of not having any.

But he understands where she comes from.

He left her, not a note of his departure given. Hid from her, unwilling to reveal who he was, reluctant to awaken the feelings that have captivated him now. Taken her across Hyrule for his selfish needs, having given no heed to her wishes.

Why would she trust him?

"Do you remember," he starts, organising his thoughts, "when we were younger and we went into the woods searching for conkers?"

She looks up, a faint smile playing on her mouth.

"And though we searched for ages, we couldn't find any?"

"Yes, and I was annoyed at how you wasted the day, so I threw leaves at you, missing by a mile…" she chuckles.

"But do you recall what we found instead?" He asks curiously.

"No, I… wait. It was a stone, an emerald in fact as I remember it being odd that we uncovered one."

"And what shape was it in?" He encourages, poorly hiding his smile.

"A heart," she laughs, "a lopsided one at that."

His smile becomes a grin, letting go of her momentarily before moving to one of the bags tied to Epona.

Rummaging deep before pulling out a particular stone, dark green and sparkling, rough to the touch.

"You kept it?" She exclaims in wonder, holding her hands out as he places it into her palms, tracing the edges with her index.

"Of course I did, you said I should keep it."

She looks up, touched that he has kept a relic of their childhood, that he still has it after all this time, realising that this was what she had felt during her search in the bags.

"I thought you said it was a just a stone?" Her voice is mildly teasing, but warm from her amazed joy.

His smile is sheepish as he replies, "I did, until Renado told me what it meant…"

"That it is a symbol of hope, able to mend a heavy heart…" she whispers, holding the stone close to her chest. "I asked him too."

"Do you believe it?" He asks, stepping close to her once again, searching her face apprehensively, both knowing he is referring to more than just the stones meaning.

"Yes."

Her grin is luminous, matching his in its radiance.

She winds her arms around his neck, tilting her face to his, breath touching his lips in a caressing breeze.

"I'm glad you removed the cowl," she mumbles, a smirk playing on her features before he closes the distance, arms curling around her waist, mouth meeting hers in a flurry of bliss.

* * *

The thwack of the shaft as it collides just shy from its target resonates back to them.

The sound an audible representation of failing to her ears.

"Try again," he says encouragingly, handing another arrow to her outstretched palm, "keep both eyes open this time."

She does, unrealising that through habit one shuts.

Again, the head avoids the centre of the tree, the makeshift bull's-eye.

He frowns slightly, analysing her technique.

Amused when she blushes, but still continuing, he places his hands on her hips, using his foot to spread her feet so that they are her hips width apart.

"Load the bow," he whispers, deliberately in her ear.

Partly as a means of distraction. When faced with aiming in a dire situation, things will knock her concentration.

But also because he enjoys making her shiver.

She follows the command, head of the arrow resting atop her fingers, index and middle of her left hand around the feathered end, stretching the string back.

He takers her elbow, drawing it back further, closer to her chin, raising it higher.

"Keep you core firm," he breathes, gently pushing her abdomen, glad when she does not falter.

"Now release."

But she pauses, moving her head to catch him in her peripheral.

"I can't when you standing so close," she argues, waiting for him to remove his hands, face too flushed to be taken anywhere close to serious.

He quirks a brow, knowing she can't see, but amused by her statement.

"Invading your personal space am I?" He chuckles deeply, lowering his head to her neck, brushing his lips against her skin. "I could get closer you know…" he bites the curve to her shoulder, gently grazing her pulse as he moves back to her ear.

"Link…" she warns, though the threat is non-existent, her voice low and breathy.

"Yes?" He replies teasingly, his tongue tracing the outer rim of her ear, teeth grazing the lobe.

A soft moan is her response, head tilting for easier access.

In an unconscious movement, her hips gravitate backwards, leaning into him.

Her muscles relax, arms dropping from their position.

She makes to turn, to repay the favour he is giving her when he pulls away, chuckling whilst doing so.

"Your too easily distracted," he laughs, grinning at her whilst shaking his head.

Leaving her hanging, flustered and feeling short-chained.

She simply shoots him a glare, "it is not my fault someone decided to arouse me."

"Ah, but arousing can be beneficial; makes one more aware of the setting they are in, concentrate harder." He replies smugly, humour still dancing in his eyes.

"Perhaps," she agrees, "but that was hardly a representation of real life scenarios."

Memories rise of the last time she held the weapon, the panic and fear clouding her senses, overpowering her ability to think.

She sees now why he distracted her.

"Maybe not exactly, but the idea was to make you loose concentration - which you cannot afford to do."

She sticks her tongue out at him playfully, knowing he's right, but still regarding him a smart-aleck.

Her arm draws back once more, eyes open and focused, determined to show just how concentrated she can be.

The arrow hitting its mark perfectly.

"Well done," he nods in approval, going to retrieve all the shafts. "I still think you shaky, but practise makes perfect."

"And I've got plenty of time for practise."

He smiles back at her, "that you do," he says, before glancing up to the sky, sighing at the dawning darkness.

"Where do you want to go?" He asks suddenly, catching her off guard.

She does not reply immediately, thinking through her choice.

The freedom is amazing, the liberation of deciding anywhere that is not plagued by the terrors of the ongoing war.

How odd that she had forgotten all about it in the calm serenity of the forest.

Though she wouldn't mind simply staying where they are now, deep south - away from all the wreckage, able to start afresh, there is a place she wishes to visit first.

"Eldin spring."

He looks surprised, an eyebrow quirked in question.

"Since awakening Hylia, I have felt her conscience getting stronger with each spring we visited, but though I can feel her presence, I think I need to visit the last one. Almost as if I need to secure her in me…" she trails, feeling her explanation to be confusing to someone other than herself.

Yet he nods again, not a trace of confusion in his features, though a slight apprehension lines his mouth.

"Are you sure?" His voice betrays his uncertainty, the hint of worry.

"Yes," she answers firmly, secure in her choice. "Why are you so concerned?"

He sighs softly, eyes glancing to the right. "When we were travelling to Lanayru spring, I took you through the woods though it was longer, do you know why?"

"I wondered if you sympathetic to my pain, that you didn't want to make me relive it." She admits, having felt foolish then for thinking that.

"That was partly it, coupled by the fact that I didn't want to see friends dead bodies again. But I was also scared."

"Of?" She prompts, disguising her shock at his honesty.

"The Gerudo, for you, for your safety." He whispers, glancing back towards her. "I was scared that if we went back through Nayrule, the females would return, checking for survivors. I didn't want to loose you." There is an edge of bitterness to his tone, as though he is admitting something he did not wish to disclose.

"Because you wanted to do it yourself?" She guesses, hitting the nail on the head.

"I did, I wanted to be the one to spill you blood." He speaks truthfully, seeing no reason to hide it. "But now I'm just terrified for you generally, I don't want to loose you when I've only just gotten you back for real."

"We'll avoid going too close to Castle town, we'll be fine," she reassures, taking his face between her hands, smiling at the heart stirring in her heart.

"I hope so, Zel. I don't think I could bear it if I lost you now…" he leans his head against hers, clasping his hand over her own.

"You won't," she promises, "I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon."

He smiles, hearing the firm certainty, hoping to all the goddesses that she's right.

* * *

Morning breaks out on the horizon, the gentle light basking the couple with its glow.

With the decision to travel both as human for safety measures, they waited out the night, leaving as soon as he is ready.

Chancing that it will be the wisest time, though truthfully not knowing.

The Gerudo are unpredictable, and even being Hylian will spare them no mercies if the enemy is the one to find them.

She has seen the methods of those from the west, their cold, merciless demeanour as they slayed all those who were living.

She understands his concern, why he is fearful of an ambush.

But still she holds onto the hope that they will remain unscathed. Travelling from Lanayru to Faron had given no difficulties, why would making the journey to Eldin do so?

However, her bow is tight in her grasp as they head out on the mare, moving at a slow canter.

The scarce amount of trees providing little coverage.

If they were to be seen, there are no woods to run into.

The path to Eldin becomes drier, the terrain shifting from plush fields to dusty earth as they take a right, moving onto the next field before Kakariko village.

The atmosphere eerily silent as they continue on, the lack of birds and wind unnerving, but neither willing to break the quiet, unknowing of how loud their voices will echo off the stone passage.

It is when they are taking their second right that the absence of noise is intruded upon.

Pants from mammals far heavier than horses, cries that sound distinctively female.

She hears him cuss under his breath, yanking the reins to run at a gallop. Both riders crouching low, feeling the swoosh of arrows skimming their sides.

Her legs squeeze tight around his; her only form of support as she loads her bow, swivelling round to aim at one of the flame haired women.

A moment of victory when the victim topples off her boar, not a moment wasted as she reloads and takes aim.

Keeping her concentration, never allowing fear to surmount it though it runs wildly in her heart.

She will remain brave, she has to. Fear can be controlled if simultaneous with courage.

She shoots endlessly, fearing she will run out of arrows, terror mounting when realising just how close they are.

Even with her bow, there are still four left, closing the distance between them with every pound of the boars they ride atop.

She wants to scream when one of the wickedly curved blades comes aiming for her, but it sticks in her throat.

Defenceless, she raises the bow, seeing the swing of metal, hearing it ring against another sword.

He swings his arm up, deflecting the bow, giving her an opening.

The arrow embeds itself squarely in the chest of the female, leaving her to fall, crushed and forgotten by the others.

But still they come at them, blades gleaming as bright at their peculiar golden eyes, red hair flying like striking cobras.

She thinks of the small blunt knife in one of the pouches, using the slight gain they have on the pursuers to rummage through the bags as he makes a sharp turn, his mare more agile than the great boars.

Hand finally locating it, she is dismayed by how truly dull the weapon is, but uses it all the same.

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, the fear sharpening her vision, she throws it, barely registering her surprise when it sinks into another's throat, blood spurting from the wound instantly.

She watches as one of the falls to the ground, Link's sword dripping with scarlet liquid.

Only one more, perhaps they might just survive…

She raises her bow the same time the female does, arrows loose in the same moment.

He veers sharply to the left, reaching round to grab her waist to prevent her slipping, sword and reins gripped dangerously in his left hand. A risk of dropping either, but one he takes, grateful it pays off.

The boar copies the movement, directed upon following, unknowing that its master does not hold on, hands focused on her bow, slack on the reins.

The sudden movement catching her unaware, leaving her tumbling out of the saddle, trampled by the boars footfall. Finally free from its mistress, no longer forced to pursue, it halts, changing course immediately.

She cannot control it, too amazed in her stupefaction, she laughs, letting it ring loud across the valley as he joins her, both sounds echoing against the houses that come into her view.

Too late feeling the sting, laugh becoming a cry of pain, clutching her chest, feeling the hot stickiness of blood.

No, no. Not now. Not when they were so close…

Her hands grasp feebly at the object, gasping when feeling its solid form.

She cannot even pretend she imagined it, the pain is too real. The wood warm from her blood.

The mare stops abruptly, and he dismounts, but she hardly feels the jolt. His voice calls out to her, and she wonders why he'd whispering.

But even in her disorientation she can hear his panic. See the utmost fear in his face that she had not replied to his cheers of triumph.

She makes to call out his name, perhaps to give the false reassurance that she is okay, even when they would both know it is a lie.

"Zelda?! Zelda? What's wro-"

Her body sags, unable to remain upright. Falling into his arms.

The action ripping a scream from her mouth.

His eyes widen, and it is then he see's it; the feathers of the arrow peeking out just inches below her collarbone, the head out through her back.

She tries not to gasp, unable to breath as it is, knowing it has pierced her lung, that death is coming.

The realisation is simultaneously terrifying and relieving.

Soon she will be reunited with her family, with her friends; a welcoming though to ease her sorrow.

But not enough to surmount her terror.

Death does not allow anyone to elude her grasp. She had thought herself lucky, that she had escaped. That death had forgotten about her, not that she was just waiting for her moment to strike.

A numbing calmness enters her body, blanketing the pain; a cause for both peace that she will soon be free from the agony, and sheer fear that she is dying. That she is truly dying.

"Li- Li… Link…" she splutters, rivets of blood pouring between her lips, coughing on the thick clogging sensation.

He looks so helpless, torn between anger, betrayal and sorrow.

"I'm here Zel, don't you close you eyes, don't you dare think about it…" he berates her, speaking through gritted teeth, trying to suppress his terror.

Carefully, she is placed into the spring's waters, the clear becoming red instantly.

"It… it hur-hurts…" she whimpers through the haze that is clouding her mind, clutching his hand, clinging onto him.

"I know, I know…" he whispers, using his other hand to splash the water onto her chest, completely unknowing of what to do. "I'm sorry Zel, so very sorry…"

Her dress is ripped, revealing the bloody entry of the arrow, the crimson pooling around it.

Skin brutally shredded to make entrance for the arrow, muscle ripped, veins burst.

It is only a matter of time before her body gives up, unable to fight the loosing battle with the damage.

"Do something!" He yells, whether to her or the gods she does not know. "Can't you see she's dying?!"

She makes to speak his name again, gagging in her attempts, "Li-Link… T-take it… my b.. bl… blood…"

His eyes go wide, glistening with moisture. "No, I don't want it, you need it..."

Her smile is weak, but no less warm, feeling her conscious slipping, "p.. put it… it to… good use, h-heal y.. you…"

The tears overspill, mixing with the waters below, almost like a salty rainfall.

"But your not a full goddess, Hylia hasn't fully awakened, it would be of no use…" he whispers, fighting to keep his voice level.

Her eyes roll backwards, a weak chuckle imprinted on her lips, unable to be voiced for she is too fatigued. Hylia giving her the only form of strength to speak, "I… was… her fr- from Ordon… only three needed… like legends… already g- goddess…"

"Then heal yourself," he growls, "use you magic and heal yourself dammit."

"Silly…" she chastises gently, cupping his face feebly, gasping painfully. Tracing his features; the slope of his cheekbone, parted lips, blue earring that dangles from his ear. Committing it all to memory, uncaring if it will serve no purpose in the afterlife.

It has taken three years to see him again, she will spend every last breath she has remembering him, no matter how much it hurts, "magic… ca-can't work… whe-when too… weak…"

"Zelda..." he pleads, voice breaking, tears leaking, "don't go…"

She wants to smile, but her vision is darkening, her eyelids becoming heavier with every passing heartbeat.

Slower and slower her heart beats, giving up on the battle, having struggled for too long. Knowing that she has only seconds left.

So much she could say. That she will always love him. That she knew he never died. That she will wait for him in the afterlife.

But she does not have the strength to say all that she wants, hoping he sees how much she truly does care for him in her eyes.

Her final breath drawn, she speaks. Knowing that it will be the last thing she will ever be able to say.

"Goo-goodbye, my… my love…"

She pushes something into his palm, a stone heavily lopsided, rough and cold to the touch, the faintest smile touching her lips as her remaining colour drains.

Her eyes close, even as Link shouts after her, yells at her to open her eyes, clutches her to him, shakes her. Attempting to do anything that will bring her back from her eternal slumber, mind knowing his attempts are wasted, heart refusing to accept. Burying his face in her neck in denial, breath hitching when feeling no pulse.

He whispers her name in a silent mantra, voice breaking with every repeat.

Lowering his head to kiss her frozen lips, her icy cheeks, lilac eyelids. All the time his eyes burning with tears, hand clenched around the emerald. Cursing the gods, the good-for-nothing light spirits.

Letting the red pour from the wound, uncaring of how the blood runs away from him, dancing out of reach.

He does not care, he cannot care. Why break the curse when she will not be there to see him free.

Hours pass, and still he sits. Cradling his lost love in his arms, lamenting his loss, furious at how cruel life can be, and forever haunted by the woman he loved with the red on her dress.

* * *

**If there was anything you did not understand, then please feel free to say. I would adore feedback as I am currently writing a story that is relatively similar to this in formatting and use of mild horror, and so it would mean so much to me to know if this was liked and made sense.**

**Seriously, I honestly cannot say how important reviews are for this, and even if you thought it was rubbish please do say, as criticism would be greatly appreciated.**

**I hope you liked it, and thank you for taking the to read, all reviews are very much welcome.**


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